by Chris Taylor
THE PROFILER
Book One of the Munro Family Series
Chris Taylor
A psychopathic killer is stalking the women of Sydney…
Federal Agent Clayton Munro, a criminal profiler with the Australian Federal Police (AFP), has been called upon to assist in hunting down a vicious murderer who is intent upon carving up his victims whilst they’re still alive. Guilt-stricken over his wife’s suicide, Clayton’s forced to set aside his personal issues in order to focus on the case.
Detective Ellie Cooper is also no stranger to heartache. Pregnant and abandoned at the altar by a fiancé intent on pursuing a career with the AFP, her opinion of the elite body of officers is anything but favorable. Angered when her boss orders her to partner with the Fed, she’s determined not to cut him any slack.
But women are dying on the streets of western Sydney and the pressure is mounting to find the person responsible.
Will Clayton and Ellie be able to put aside their animosity and work together to catch a killer before it’s too late? And what about the special fascination the killer seems to have with Ellie…
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Copyright 2014 by Chris Taylor
(All Rights Reserved)
LCT Productions Pty Ltd
18364 Kamilaroi Highway, Narrabri NSW 2390
ISBN. 978-1-925119-00-8
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The Profiler is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Note to Readers
Acknowledgements
About the Author
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the late Len Wilde who was my most ardent supporter and to my husband Linden, who has never stopped believing in me.
PROLOGUE
Bradley Cole smoothed the doll’s silky, blond hair with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. He loved the fair ones. They were his favorites. They were the ones he tucked in beside him in bed at night. The ones that kept him safe.
Sometimes.
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the hard, plastic forehead.
The door to his bedroom flew open and slammed against the wall. He cringed at the look on his mother’s face. With surreptitious movements, he pushed the doll further under the bedclothes and prayed she wouldn’t notice.
“What have you got there, you disgusting little boy? Don’t tell me you have one of those filthy dolls in your bed. How many times have I told you boys don’t play with dolls? Bradley Cole, you are a naughty, naughty boy.”
She stumbled closer, close enough so that he could see the redness that rimmed her eyes. He almost gagged on the stench of alcohol and stale body odor.
Her cheap cotton nightdress flapped around her large frame. She collapsed onto the side of his bed and the steel frame groaned in protest. She reached out and tore off the bedclothes, exposing him to her sharp-eyed gaze.
“What have we here?” she crooned. Her gaze landed on the collection of dolls beside him. Her eyes went wild with excitement.
Terror liquefied his limbs. His stomach clenched.
“Well, well, well. You have been a naughty boy.” Her fist caught him plumb on the cheek. He gasped from the pain. Tears burned his eyes.
“And now we have tears from the sissy boy. A ten-year-old who plays with dolls and cries like a girl. What am I going to do with you?”
She tut-tutted and then hauled herself to her feet. When she turned back to face him, her expression was as icy as her voice.
“Down to the basement. Now.”
Bradley froze. He thought fleetingly of making a dash for the phone that sat amidst the clutter on the hall table and then remembered the other times—lots of other times—when he’d dialed the police only to be told not to waste their time and if he made a nuisance of himself again, there’d be consequences.
“I said, get up.”
She loomed over him. Her fetid breath turned his stomach. Her fist poised for another strike and his fear ratcheted up another notch. Moments later, his bladder gave way.
“You stinking little boy. You’re going to pay for that. Do you think I have nothing better to do than to wash your stinking sheets?”
With vicious fingers, she dug into his shoulder and hauled him from the bed. He blinked away the pain, knowing it was nothing to what he’d be forced to endure in the basement.
“Now, get down there like I told you and make it quick. Real quick.”
CHAPTER ONE
Detective Ellie Cooper climbed out of the unmarked police car and waited for her partner, Luke Baxter, to come around from the passenger side. Drawing her jacket tighter around her slight frame, she tucked an errant strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. The afternoon was cold and dreary, just as it had been the day she’d buried her son. Three years today. It felt like yesterday.
Memories she’d tried hard to hold at bay all day threatened to bring her undone. Familiar pain and anger, combined with deep loss and a yearning for answers surged through her. She compressed her lips against the sudden rush of emotions and made an effort to push the thoughts aside. She was at work. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.
As usual, she took refuge in her job. She flashed her badge at the huddle of fresh-faced, uniformed policemen who stood inside the blue and white, checked crime scene tape that cordoned off part of the scrubby bank of western Sydney’s Nepean River. Not far away, photographers and TV crews haggled over positions.
“We’re Detectives Cooper and Baxter. Penrith Local Area Command,” Ellie said to one of the young officers. “We’re here about a head.”
The officer nodded and offered his hand. “I’m Constable Jacobs, Richmond Police Station. I took the call from Griffin.”
“Griffin?” Ellie asked.
“Yeah, the bloke who found it.” His gaze flicked toward the crowd and his voice turned dry. “And presumably the one who called the media.”
“Where is he?”
“I put him in the back of the squad car. I thought he’d gotten enough camera exposure for today.”
Luke and Ellie looked toward the police cruiser. The profile of a man seated in the back seat could be seen in the late afternoon light.
“What’s his story?” Luke asked.
Jacobs consulted his notebook. “He came down after lunch for a spot of fishing. Apparently, the fish were biting, so he didn’t notice the bag right away.”
“The bag?
” Ellie asked.
“Yeah, the head’s wrapped in a trash bag.” He glanced at his notebook again. “Anyway, he was here about an hour when he had to take a leak. Walked over there a bit.”
Jacobs pointed in the direction of a stand of bottlebrush trees nearby. Their scrubby branches provided effective cover from the road twenty metres away. “That’s where he says he found it.”
Ellie was relieved the area had been included within the taped barrier and nodded toward the young constable. “Good work on securing the scene, Jacobs.”
He flushed. “Thanks, Detective.”
She looked at Luke. “Let’s go and talk to our fisherman.”
“I’ll get the camera from the car,” he responded. “We need to get a few pictures before we lose the light.” He glanced back at Jacobs. “Anyone call the morgue?”
“Yes. I got onto them straight after I called it into the station.”
“Good thinking, Constable. Shows initiative,” Ellie said. “Why don’t you join me while I talk to our witness?”
Eagerness lit up the young constable’s eyes. “That would be awesome. I can’t wait to apply for the detective’s course. I know I’ve only just come out of the Academy, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do and—”
“Jacobs,” she interrupted gently, “let’s just get on with it, okay?” Ellie hid her amusement. She wasn’t that old that she couldn’t remember feeling exactly the same way.
Even in the fading light, Elle saw the mortification that flooded his expression and felt a twinge of guilt, but they were wasting time, and in homicides, every second counted.
Turning abruptly, she made her way through the tall grass toward the squad car that was parked a short distance away. Jacobs stumbled behind her.
Ducking under the police tape, she came up to the vehicle and rapped her knuckles on the glass.
The man she presumed was Bill Griffin unwound the window and stared up at her with wary blue eyes. His wild gray hair was windblown and in desperate need of a shampoo. Grizzled cheeks covered in a rough beard emphasized the belligerent thrust of his chin. He smelled like fish, river mud and body odor. A damp hessian bag lay on the ground near the car, along with a fishing rod and tackle box.
“Mr Griffin? I’m Detective Cooper.” Ellie indicated Jacobs behind her. “I think you’ve already met Constable Jacobs?”
“Yeah. I already told ’im everythin’.”
“Okay, but we’ve got a head lying in a trash bag over there and so far, you’re the only witness.”
He shot a furtive glance at the hessian bag and suddenly his reticence made sense.
“I’m not from fisheries,” she added. “I couldn’t care less whether you have a license, how many fish you have in there or how big they are. That’s between you and them. All I’m interested in is how a woman’s head came to be lying in a bag under a tree near the river.” She gave him a hard look. “You got that?”
Griffin gave a reluctant nod and his gaze slid away. “It’s just like I told ’im.” He gestured with a dirty finger to where Jacobs stood beside Ellie. “I was doin’ a spot of fishin’, like I always do. Right ’ere, every Friday. Fish were bitin’ good. I’d gone through ’alf me bait already and I’d only been ’ere an hour.”
He paused to scratch a scab on his arm. “I ’ad to take a piss, just like I told the constable. I pulled in me line and left it on the bank with me tackle box. Then I wandered over to them trees over there. That’s when I found it.” He gave a shudder. “Frightened the shit outta me.”
“What made you open the bag?” Ellie asked, pulling out her notebook.
Griffin shrugged and looked away. “I dunno. Just thought I’d take a look.”
Ellie knew the area was renowned for break and enters and petty thefts. More than likely, he’d hoped to find something he could sell.
She gave him another hard look. “What did you do then?”
“I picked it up. It was bloody ’eavy. Carried it a ways over there, toward me gear.”
“Then you opened it.”
The man bristled. “Got curious, that’s all. Nothin’ wrong with that.” He shuddered again. “Wish to Christ I ’adn’t. That thing’s gonna give me nightmares for months.”
“Can you show me exactly where you found it?”
Not giving him time to refuse, she opened the door and waited for him to step out. She followed closely behind as he walked over to the stand of bottlebrush trees. The night was closing in. Light would soon become an issue.
Luke jogged up beside them. Ellie turned to face him.
“We need to get forensics out here with some lights,” she said. “It’s my guess it’s just been dumped here, but you never know what you might find. On more than one occasion, a cigarette butt at the scene’s been enough to nail a killer.”
Luke issued a brief smile. “Yeah, on CSI, at least.” His expression turned serious. “I’ll give the boss a call. See what he’s organized.”
Luke pulled out his cell phone. Ellie caught up to the fisherman.
“Just ’ere, it was. Right near the trunk of that one.” He pointed to an area at the base of one of the bottlebrushes. There was a faint indentation where the grass had been flattened.
Ellie waited for Luke to finish on the phone before calling out to him.
“Bring your camera over here.” She indicated the flattened area. “This is where our fisherman says he found it.”
Luke closed the short distance between them and came to a standstill beside the witness. He leveled the man with a hard look.
“When did you call the media?”
Griffin’s gaze skittered away and he ducked his head. “It wasn’t me that called ’em.”
Luke snorted. “Right, they just happened to magically appear.” He gave the fisherman a hard look. “You want to hope you don’t have anything in that fishing bag of yours that you shouldn’t. We might not be from fisheries, but it doesn’t mean we don’t know where to find them.”
The man opened his mouth to protest again and Luke cut him off. “Whether you did or whether you didn’t, I don’t give a damn. This is our show now. It’s a murder investigation and we won’t stand for any interference—from you or the media. Got that?”
The man’s gaze fell to his feet. He nodded with reluctance.
“Good.” Luke handed her the camera and she fired off several shots, taking care to photograph the entire area.
She turned to the fisherman. “We need you to come down to the station so we can take a full statement. Constable Jacobs will bring you in.” She turned to the constable who’d come up behind her. “Is that all right with you, Jacobs?”
He nodded emphatically. “Of course, Detective. We’ll leave right away.”
Ellie nodded her thanks. “We’ll be there shortly. Just as soon as forensics arrives and we give them a quick rundown.”
Moments later, headlights swept the riverbank. “Looks like them now,” she murmured.
* * *
Ellie pushed away from the bench and moved closer to the stainless steel gurney where Dr Samantha Wolfe, the head of Forensic Pathology in the Westmead Morgue, examined the head of the unknown woman. The doctor’s glossy black hair was tucked up in its usual position under a blue surgical hat and although Ellie knew the woman wasn’t much older than Ellie, the years spent working with the dead were etched into the lines of fatigue on her face, making her appear older than she was. Even so, Ellie was pleased Samantha had caught the case. The doctor was the best forensic pathologist in Sydney.
“So, what do you think?” Ellie asked, trying hard not to breathe in too deeply of the smell that was unique to the morgue. It was well after nine, and Ellie was feeling the effects of the long day. And it wasn’t over yet. She’d told Luke to go home. No sense in both of them hanging around. At least one of them ought to get some sleep.
Samantha peered at her from behind clear plastic safety glasses.
“There’s no trauma to the head, as such
.” The doctor sent her a wry look. “If you don’t count the fact that it’s been severed from its body.”
Ellie smiled reluctantly. There was something very weird about trading jokes while a woman’s head lay on a gurney between them.
With gloved hands, Samantha examined the girl’s face. “She’s definitely Caucasian. I’d hazard a guess she’s of European or Mediterranean descent. From the broadness of her features and the olive tones of her skin, even taking into account its deterioration, she’s not an English rose.”
“How long do you think she’s been dead?”
She shrugged. “Hard to put an exact time of death. This time of year, tissue breakdown is slowed down by the cold. We’ve had some fairly severe frosts over the past few weeks. A bit like being kept in a freezer. If I had to guess, I’d say two, maybe three weeks. She’s still in pretty good shape, but as I said, the cold weather would have something to do with that.”
With a clank, the doctor dropped a small metal object into an empty kidney dish lined up beside several others on a trolley next to the gurney.
Ellie leaned in closer. “What’s that?”
“An earring. There’s one in the other ear, too.” A few seconds later, another object clattered into the dish. Ellie hunted around for a plastic evidence bag.
“Over near the door.” Samantha indicated the rack of shelves on the far side of the room beside the door through which Ellie had entered.
“I’ll take these with me,” she said scooping them up with gloved fingers and dropping the jewelry carefully into the evidence bag. “They might help us identify her.”
“No sign of the rest of her?”
Ellie shook her head. “Not yet.” She sighed wearily. “I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”